The Last Dragon Chronicles: Dark Fire (30 page)

literature I’ve read always suggests that the creature can’t wield any power of its own, but can be made capable of acts of healing if it’s first tamed by… ” She stopped and stared at the wall. Bonnington wrapped himself around her ankles.

“Go on,” David said.

“A red-haired maiden.”

“Lucy.”

“Yes. She fits the profile perfectly. If it’s there and Lucy gains its trust, she would be an extremely powerful young lady – and an instant target for anyone, or any ‘thing’, with malevolent intent.”

The conversation swerved into silence

for a moment. Zanna busied herself with

brewing the tea and feeding Bonnington while David stood by the window, musing. It was Zanna who eventually spoke again. “This sibyl. If she’s anything like Gwilanna, she’s up to no good. Is it possible that she was the woman who was seen in Africa?”

David ran his hand across his mouth. “I

don’t know.”

“Well, she knows about the Glissington dragon and now she’s got the bonus of a unicorn, too. That’s a dangerous mix, David. Maybe you should go and check it out?”

He turned away, tumbling his phonethrough his hands. “I daren’t leave heretill I’m certain there’s no threat to youfrom the dark fire. Lucy’s in safe handswith Tam. Tell me something: why do youthink the sunrise had no effect when it hit

the cairn?”

Zanna crouched down and put a spilled
 
Chunky Chunk
 
back into Bonnington’sbowl. She went to the sink, looking downat the water as she washed her hands.

“Legends are the worst form of Chinese

Whispers; they change over time until thetruth is barely recognisable. I’ll do someresearch for you on Lucy’s computer, butmy guess is the sun has nothing to do withwaking the unicorn.” She turned, dryingher   hands   on   a   towel.   “They’retraditionally associated with the moon.”

David nodded, taking this in. “Can youfind out when the moon rises over

Scuffenbury?”

She shrugged. “Late afternoon, at aguess. Arthur’s got an ephemeris. I’ll lookit up.”

“Good. Let me know – to within half an

hour, if possible. As long as everything here remains stable, I’ll stay with you till then. I want to catch this sibyl in the act. Right now, though… I’m going to take a

shower.”

“Hmph, not before time,” she muttered. She opened his jacket and let it fall. “Don’t you have anything else to wear besides this sharp-shooter outfit? You look like you just got off the Deadwood stage.”

“What’s wrong with the gunslinger look? I’m told all the goth girls go for it.”

She gave him a cheesy grin. “Leave your stuff on the landing, I’ll put it in the machine. Borrow one of Arthur’s robes

for now. Maybe some fresh underwear, too, mmm?”

He made a gun barrel with his fingers and fired a blank shot. “Thank you, ma’am. Hold the fort. I won’t be long.”

In the bathroom, he piled everythingoutside the door except his waistcoat,which he draped across the back of achair, lest there be any messages from the North.

The shower was warm and relaxing.

David closed his eyes and let the water

pour   down,   allowing  himself  these moments of comfort in which his worries

could temporarily drain away. But as the bathroom filled with steam, he was unaware that underneath the window, on the soft cork lid of the utility box where Liz kept her spare supply of toilet rolls, something small had suddenly punctured the mist: a dragon, materialising. It looked warily at the silhouette behind the shower curtain, saw it raise its hands to its head

and start to rub. The visitor tapped its foot. Cleverly adapting its eyes to the increasing density of water vapour, it shifted its gaze around the room. Its eyes widened when it spotted the waistcoat. It spread its wings and flew to the chair. Silently, it reached into the pocket and pulled out the watch, freezing as the silver chain clinked against the casing. It looked sharply at the curtain. The silhouette rubbed on and even began  to sing. Taking no more chances, the dragon pulled the waistcoat over itself. Then it flipped the watch open.

The star patterns began to form at once, but they were far from complete when the dragon flipped its tail, dug its isoscele into a port on the side of the casing and

twisted it. There was a flash and the

screen went from green to grey. The dragon frowned and twisted its tail again. Something whirred (quietly) and although no image appeared on the screen, the streaks of light converging at its centre were a clear indication that information

was crossing the air waves – or the thought planes. Had Gwendolen the IT dragon been present, she would have identified the data as co-ordinates. She

would have pinpointed them also, and probably reported her findings to Lucy. And she would, most certainly, have raised the alarm. For the dragon in the bathroom was none other than Gwillan, though how he’d been able to get through a locked door would surely have puzzled

any dragon other than Groyne. But aside from this, the thing that would have truly
 
disturbed
 
Gwendolen was the image waxing like a shadow in the watch face: first dragon, then darkling. Darkling then dragon. Bone for bone. Scale for scale. Jewelled   eyes;   blueberry   eyes. Interchangeable. It was just as if Gwillan – or more precisely the boy, Joseph Henry, controlling Gwillan – could not decide which of these creatures appealed to him the most…

A close encounter of the furred

kind

Cats. They had always been the onecreature the Pennykettle dragons werewary of. Unlike the vast majority ofhumans, cats had an uncanny sense ofspotting   a   dragon’s   movements   orknowing they were alive – even in theirsolid state. Not that a cat was any realthreat. Bonnington, for instance, hadlearned long ago that if he pounced on anyof the Pennykettle dragons his rewardwould be a sharp spike of clay in his paw. And Groyne often told an amusing storyabout the time he’d been forced to scorch

a kitten’s whiskers when he’d been on a

mission at Tam Farrell’s flat. Even so, cats were best avoided, which was why Gwendolen found herself slightly miffed to be left in the guesthouse at four in the morning and told to keep a lookout for ‘that cat’ when Tam and Lucy had gone to explore Scuffenbury Hill.

She didn’t expect to see the cat, of course, and after ten minutes guarding nothing but dust she’d grown weary of the task, closed her eyes and gone to sleep.

So it was quite a surprise when she woke suddenly to see the cat standing on Lucy’s pillow, its smoky grey face looking directly into hers. It was studying her carefully  and must have seen her eyes blink open, for it drew its nose back with the slightest of jerks and the pupils of its

green eyes widened like saucers.

Gwendolen froze as solidly as she could, but when the cat stretched a leg and tried to paw her snout, her only option, she believed, was to defend herself. She issued a jet of smoke. The cat spluttered, reared up and hissed in anger. This time its paw was not so gentle. It flashed at Gwendolen with claws extended. But by then, Gwendolen had flown to the mantelpiece, too high, she thought, for the cat to jump up.

With an irritated sneeze, the cat turned its head to see where she had gone. It found her on the mantelpiece and glared. Taking as much time as it needed, it trod

across   the   bed   leaving   deep   and purposeful prints in the duvet, then

dropped to the floor and stalked towards the fireplace. As it reached the hearth it tilted  its  head  back  to   check  on

Gwendolen’s position. Gwendolen leanedforward and waved at it, then put hershoulder to the cairn stone Tam had

examined the day before and pushed it off the shelf. The cat leapt sideways, just in time to avoid its head being crushed. The stone bounced on the hearth tiles and

rolled onto the carpet. The cat stared at it

and swished its tail.

Then something quite extraordinaryhappened. The  cat’s eyes turned purpleand the stone lifted slowly off the floor. When it reached a height level with themantelpiece, Gwendolen panicked andflew to the mini-chandelier in the ceiling,

fearful that the cat was going to hurl the stone at her. Instead, she saw the stone wobble slightly and travel back to its place on the shelf where it was set down with an awkward clunk. The cat then

jumped onto the foot of the bed – and

started to wash itself.

Gwendolen was confused. Did the cat

want to attack her or not? She changed position to get a better view of the bed and gripped one of the chandelier’s candle-shaped bulbs. A string of glass diamonds underneath it tinkled. The whole

thing tilted and began to swing. The cat raised its eyes but continued washing, as though it had now become bored of the chase. But a moment later it turned its gaze to the light switch on the wall and the

chandelier suddenly lit up. Gwendolen fled to the window shutters, rocking precariously on the top of one. The cat yawned then focused its glare at the shutters until the one next to Gwendolen

banged itself shut. Shaken, Gwendolen returned to the mantelpiece where the cat fixed her with an imperious gaze.

What do you want?
 
Gwendolen hurred, confident   the  stupid creature wouldn’t understand. But the cat jerked violently and pricked its ears.

Me-ow?
 
it said, at length.

Gwendolen twizzled her snout. Now

she was
 
really
 
puzzled. The cat’s miaow had come from genuine feline vocal cords, there was no question of that. But there was something more familiar mixed in

with the sound. She’d had enough practice at home with Bonnington to recognise certain catty inflections, but this was different, more advanced. And whereas Bonnington never progressed beyond a few random snorts and chunters, this cat seemed to know she was speaking a language and not just grunting. It was trying to communicate.

Hrrr?
 
she said. Can you speak dragon?

The cat tilted its head and miaowed

again, this time in a lower register.

Still the sounds made no obvious

sense, but an idea had now occurred to Gwendolen. She was famed for her

powers of translation, most commonly employed in transferring digital data into human words on a screen for Lucy. When

this happened, Lucy had a habit of speaking the words out loud as they appeared. Gwendolen had learned the language of humans by matching the shapes Lucy made with her lips to the downloaded data. For that reason it

occurred to her to watch the cat’s mouth.

Speak again
 
, she hurred, making mouthmovements with her paws.

Downstairs, a door slammed. The catsat up. Its fur stood on end. It poured offthe bed like molten lava. It trotted to the

door and was clearly going to pass right through like a ghost when it stopped, looked over its shoulder, and miaowed one final time.

Though the creature was slightly furtheraway, Gwendolen could still identify the

shapes its mouth was making. The words were unpolished but the sentence was clear:
 
My name is Bella
 
. Spoken like a human, out of the body of a cat…

Tipped off

“What do you mean, it’s not a cat?”

While Gwendolen was explaining, there was a knock at the door. Lucy raised a finger to her lips and called, “Who is it?”

“Hannah. I wondered how you were this morning?”

Lucy  glanced  at  her  mud-stained kagoule and quickly took it to the bathroom and dropped it in the tub. She checked her hair hurriedly then opened the door. “Hi. I’m fine, thanks. I slept OK once you’d gone.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Hannah, a picture of middle-aged efficiency in smartly-creased slacks and a plain beige

T-shirt, smiled and looked the girl up anddown, her gaze coming to rest on the lasttwo inches of her sodden jeans. “Haveyou been out already?”

“Erm, yeah,” Lucy said, wondering ifthis was some kind of honesty test. Afterthe incident on Scuffenbury Hill, she and Tam had quickly gone back to the car anddriven around the area of the Tor for a

while, eventually returning to the house about seven a.m. No one had seen them

come in, but Hannah (or Clive) could easily have spotted their shoes in the foyer. “Me and T– Uncle Tam went to see the sunrise.”

“Really?”   Hannah’s   shrill   voice dropped to a whisper. She looked towards the upward flight of stairs. “Did you see

what happened?”

Lucy,   playing   dumb,   lifted   her

shoulders.

“You haven’t see the change in the

horse?”

“We weren’t on the Tor,” Lucy said truthfully. “We just… went for a drive.”

Upstairs, a door banged shut.

“That’s Ms Gee,” hissed Hannah. She gripped the girl’s arm and drew her close. “I can’t explain now, but be wary of that woman. She’s not what she seems. I need